Happy
by yvyandura
Summary: Draco doesn't remember. (One shot, Dark Fic, Non-Con Elements)


**Happy**

Draco doesn't remember.

"Look, this is you." The man pokes at the face in the picture.

"We were dancing to that song you like, the one that goes _flashing, it's flashing, something…_ " He stares at him with an ugly glare and Draco knows he's expecting some kind of recognition. He doesn't get any.

Draco shakes his head slowly. He's half smiling because he thinks it's funny that the man doesn't remember the lyrics. Neither does Draco, and apparently, Draco's the one that liked the song.

The man growls. It doesn't help, Draco doesn't remember.

Wait, that's not true.

He remembers how the white goes pink when you pour red all over it.

His smile slowly vanishes. There was a lot of red. On the floor, on the walls, on the beautiful white robe, on his legs…

His legs. His gaze goes to his lap, where the photo lays crumpled. The man – John, Daniel, something – kept poking at the picture and that's why it's crumpled like that. He doesn't like it. His face was happier before he ruined-

Before he ruined…

His legs are tied to some kind of wood. Draco feels it because he tried to leave when he woke up. He woke up because before he'd passed out. He woke up because the other man - the one that has a white robe, calls himself a doctor, ' _don't worry, I am a doctor_ ', and flashes a pointy wand at his eyes from time to time – he'd put something on his nose that smelled like alcohol.

 _Don't overload him with-_

They are talking now. The man – Theo? Jonah… - and the doctor. They keep sneaking glances at his, as if expecting him to suddenly explode.

But Draco's fine.

He's okay.

He moves his fingers and feels the hard leather biting at his wrists. Those are tied too. He asked them before ' _Why am I tied_?' and they said it has to be like that for a while. He thought before that they were afraid Draco was going to hurt himself.

Now Draco thinks they are afraid he's going to hurt them.

Because…

He remembers some things.

 _But not the right things_ , Rob - Robinson? Something with "R" for sure… - told him as he held the photo before his eyes. There were no fights; there were no blood, nor tears. _Only this happy day in which we got married._

You see…

He doesn't recall happy. At all.

His memories floats between two major scenes. One it's about today, and the other it's from a long time ago.

The other memories, the lesser ones, are blurrier and difficult to focus on, but they feel real.

Here's what Draco remembers:

When Draco was eighteen (because there was nothing before Draco was eighteen) Draco had a friend that he met at a place called Hogwarts. One day his friend followed him through the corridors and shoved him through a room that wasn't here before.

It just appeared.

Just like that.

He hit Draco sometimes when pushed him away. He pushed him away because he tried to kiss him.

He remembers going down on the floor of the room, his friends… the man's mad face looming over his. Clothes ripping and then…

Then there's red.

And when Draco comes to, neither seem to remember much. His hair is loose around his face, the tears drying. His clothes are rumpled and open. There's a warm liquid running down his tights. His friend (enemy? _no, Draco, I am your friend_ …) is there too, on the ground. His friend's glasses are on the floor and his eyes are very green. His friend is looking at his red hands, confused, tumbling. He is looking at them that way because before he'd touched between Draco's legs and they just came out like that.

It's so weird. He seems to be thinking. How did this happened?

He'd felt so numb. Yet the memory burns. There is just him, looming over Draco, now a worried face.

And green eyes, Draco mustn't forget. His eyes were completely green. The iris growing until it swallowed up the white, and then shrinking down again, out of existence.

He'd reached out a hand and touched his face. And Draco was there on the ground, thinking, how could this happen to me? To me? It shouldn't have.

It's always girls. Not you. Never you.

"Shh, shh" the man'd said, petting his face. "It's going to be fine. It's going to be okay." And then he was there, gathering Draco in his arms, eyes going green again. He'd screwed his own shut. He was numb.

"You are going to be happy," the man said.

Draco choked on a sob. This should never ever happen to you. _Never with you._

"With me."

Tipped wood touched his forehead. His eyes opened wide. They went blank.

And then, Draco remembers forgetting. He says, "There was nothing before me, right? Just me and you. And you love me. And I love you. And today there was this accident..." He looks deep into his eyes.

"But we are fine. And you love me."

He was forgetting.

"And we're happy"

And they were. Because he said so.

He'd grinned and laughed in the bed, in the garden, in the dance room. He'd swirled. He'd threw his head back with the power of his laugh.

Then, there is now. Because after that there is only him, and Draco forgot it. Forgot him.

The doctor comes back with the laser. Every time Draco revives the memory, he pushes his back to reality with the wood. This must be the fourth time. He's doing that a lot, the doctor (medi… something) must be getting annoyed, Draco thinks.

And then there's nothing.

He glances around at the room. It looks like a hospital room, but the walls are covered in tiles, so it also looks like a bathroom. It must be easier to clean it if you, by mistake, poured red all over it.

He struggles to sit up and fails. Why is Draco tied up like this?

"How much do you remember since you were eightteen?"

He glances up to a man in a white robe. Like a doctor's.

"What?" Draco says. "Who are you? Where am I?"

He notice the doctor's eyes. He mustn't forget them. They are just like his baby's eyes. All green, then all white.

They must be friends, Draco thinks. They must be the same kind of thing, those vile things. They must've come from hell or something. He sighs and slumps down on the weird chair.

His head feels heavy, overloaded. He feels so numb.

The doctor turns to some other man.

"How much do you changed since Draco was eighteen?" he asks.

"Everything," he says - and Draco says it too, right before he says it, because somehow Draco knows it - "I changed everything."

This is his life.

 _Draco, you are a beautiful doll._

"He was sad all the time, I couldn't stand it!" His eyes go green. His tears are silvery.

And sometimes white.

No, wait… that's his… eyes?

The man - Hobson, Harrison. He must have a lot of names because they all fit his blurred face - kneels down before him.

He pets his face.

"It's going to be okay, love," he says. "You just look into my eyes, love."

"You should just kill him. It's kinder," the doctor says somewhere above his. He sounds bored.

And fat tears run down the devil's face, but he's okay and Draco smiles. He remembers something. "Are you going to say that thing again? That thing you always say to me? I think I know what it is, I-"

But Draco doesn't finish. He opens his mouth and what follows it's what always happens.

He doesn't remember.

And then there's Harry.


End file.
